


the morning after

by januarymay



Series: visions from somewhere in italy [3]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 06:50:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19079728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/januarymay/pseuds/januarymay
Summary: a window into Elio's thoughts on the morning after he meets with Oliver.





	the morning after

**Author's Note:**

> even though Elio is sharing all his thoughts in the book, there is definitely more that went through his mind that morning after he and Oliver had sex. here is my attempt to think like Elio.

The birds were loud outside the bedroom when I woke up sometime after our midnight rendezvous. My mind had not processed the fact that I had given myself to Oliver without a second thought. The moment he pressed his lips to mine and wrapped his fingers around my wrist I was gone.

I didn’t stop to think if he was as desperate for this as I was. I didn’t stop to think about what would happen if anyone found out. I didn’t stop to think about if he had done this before. 

Or if he knew that I hadn’t.

That’s all I could think about now. My chest was sticky from the multiple orgasms he gave me mere hours ago, and as much as I wanted to recall the pure pleasure at that moment, my mind was plagued with worry and I nearly gagged as I remembered the weight of him on my tongue. 

I must have seemed so stupid, so eager. The moment he whipped his belt out of those too-big Bermuda shorts, I shot forward like a dart and barely laid eyes on the cock I had so longed to worship before covering him with my mouth, sucking him as if he was the most delicious thing I’d ever had the pleasure of tasting. If I was being honest with myself, he was. And as much as I hated myself right then, with those damn birds chirp chirp chirping outside the balcony, I wanted to taste him again and remember every little detail this time. 

Forcing myself to close my eyes, I tried to piece together exactly what happened last night. The midnight meeting began quietly. I was unsure of myself and he was unsure of everything, which was so unlike him. He even asked if I was okay. Pretty sure I responded with “me okay” which makes me wonder if I really was. 

I remember the door closing too quickly, slamming too loudly, making me jump with nerves and Oliver fall back on the bed with quiet shakes of nervous laughter. As soon as I saw his god-like body, still clothed as he was, laid back on the bed and almost mine for the taking, I slid onto the mattress beside him. We sat together until he asked if he could kiss me. 

I kind of liked that Oliver asked stupid questions like that. Can you kiss me? Oliver, you can do whatever the hell you want with me. You already have. And I love it.   
The kiss was what really did me in. His mouth was so inviting that I blindly surrendered and that’s where my memory fails. Marks of last night were on my body, and those jogged my memory for some of the best parts, but I seemed to be blocking my own vision into last night. 

Oliver began to stir next to me, his leg curled around mine. It was warm and comfortable, but my head hurt so hard from thinking that I knew I needed to leave. As soon as he woke up, I decided, I would look into those beautiful eyes, say thank you, and leave him. My leaving wouldn’t be anything to him, I was positive he expected it.

My body ached just as much as my head, and my brain stopped at each point to recall what happened to that exact spot. To recall what Oliver did to that exact spot.   
My lips – swollen. Probably bright red from many different activities, kissing being the first one. Our mouths connected was something I would never tire of – it was the first taste I got of him. 

I felt a bruise on my neck, close to my collarbone, from where I had thrown my head back against Oliver’s (my) pillow. I remember him moaning my name, the most delicious sound that had ever reached my ears – forget about Bach and Haydn, give me Oliver. With my name still on his lips, he pressed his mouth to my skin and sucked. 

My chest, obviously, was still sticky. Oliver knew how to make me beg for it, and after so much begging, I eventually let go. But once wasn’t enough. Evidence of that was smeared into my skin. 

Lastly, my asshole was aching. My fucking asshole. Before I came into that room my asshole had clenched for him like he was missing from me and now, the morning after, the feeling was still the same. Soreness accompanied it, but I was empty. And I clenched my teeth in annoyance at how much I wanted Oliver to cover me with his body, my sticky stomach pressed to the sheets, and stuff me with his cock again. And again. 

Two things happened then at once. My penis was half-hard at the thought of Oliver’s cock and Oliver had just woken up next to me. Before he could do anything, I sat up, the white sheets pooling around my waist. His arm dropped back into the bed when I moved up away from him. 

Every inch of my skin begged for his kiss, his touch. But I needed to refuse it. I couldn’t give in that easily, no matter how much I wanted to.


End file.
